Does modern classical music lack the "color" of the past?
in Other Arts ·
I went to a concert last night, and it left me feeling incredibly conflicted about the direction of classical music in the 21st century. It wasn't a bad experience—not by any means. The technical proficiency was staggering, the musicians were clearly masters of their craft, and the atmosphere in the hall was electric. But as I sat there, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for a certain kind of "maximalism" that seems to be vanishing from the repertoire we see programmed these days.
It feels like we’ve entered an era of minimalism and austerity. Don't get me wrong; I have immense respect for the avant-garde and the composers who push the boundaries of what sound can even be. There is a cerebral, intellectual beauty in much of what is being written and performed today. It challenges you. It demands your attention. But sometimes, I find myself craving something more... visceral. Something that feels like it’s painted in Technicolor rather than shades of grey.
I’m talking about that lush, sweeping, almost cinematic quality that used to be the bread and butter of the great Romantic era and the early 20th-century masters. You know the feeling—where the orchestration is so thick and vibrant that you can almost see the colors bleeding into one another. It’s music that doesn't just sit in your ears; it wraps itself around your chest and pulls. Lately, it feels like much of what gets programmed in the big halls is designed to be "important" or "challenging," rather than just being unapologetically beautiful or grand.
I remember going to a performance a few years back where the program was so dense with mathematical, structuralist pieces that by the intermission, half the audience looked like they were mid-way through a difficult exam rather than a musical journey. There was no release, no soaring melody to cling to, just a constant stream of complex textures. It was impressive, sure, but it was exhausting. It lacked that sense of "panache"—that certain flair that makes a performance feel like a transformative event rather than a lecture.
I wonder if we've collectively decided that "grandeur" is somehow gauche or outdated. We live in a world that is increasingly obsessed with the stripped-back, the lo-fi, and the minimalist. We see it in architecture, in fashion, and certainly in the way we consume media. Perhaps that's why the big, sweeping, highly orchestrated works feel like relics of a bygone age. There’s a certain bravery in being "extra," in leaning into the drama and the sheer scale of sound, but I feel like we’ve become a bit too polite for it.
I’m curious if others feel this way. When you go to a concert, are you looking for that intellectual stimulation and the "new," or are you looking for that overwhelming, sensory-rich experience that makes you feel like you’ve stepped into another world entirely? Is the "golden age" of orchestral richness something we should be trying to reclaim, or is the move toward more restrained, cerebral music just the natural evolution of the art form?
It feels like we’ve entered an era of minimalism and austerity. Don't get me wrong; I have immense respect for the avant-garde and the composers who push the boundaries of what sound can even be. There is a cerebral, intellectual beauty in much of what is being written and performed today. It challenges you. It demands your attention. But sometimes, I find myself craving something more... visceral. Something that feels like it’s painted in Technicolor rather than shades of grey.
I’m talking about that lush, sweeping, almost cinematic quality that used to be the bread and butter of the great Romantic era and the early 20th-century masters. You know the feeling—where the orchestration is so thick and vibrant that you can almost see the colors bleeding into one another. It’s music that doesn't just sit in your ears; it wraps itself around your chest and pulls. Lately, it feels like much of what gets programmed in the big halls is designed to be "important" or "challenging," rather than just being unapologetically beautiful or grand.
I remember going to a performance a few years back where the program was so dense with mathematical, structuralist pieces that by the intermission, half the audience looked like they were mid-way through a difficult exam rather than a musical journey. There was no release, no soaring melody to cling to, just a constant stream of complex textures. It was impressive, sure, but it was exhausting. It lacked that sense of "panache"—that certain flair that makes a performance feel like a transformative event rather than a lecture.
I wonder if we've collectively decided that "grandeur" is somehow gauche or outdated. We live in a world that is increasingly obsessed with the stripped-back, the lo-fi, and the minimalist. We see it in architecture, in fashion, and certainly in the way we consume media. Perhaps that's why the big, sweeping, highly orchestrated works feel like relics of a bygone age. There’s a certain bravery in being "extra," in leaning into the drama and the sheer scale of sound, but I feel like we’ve become a bit too polite for it.
I’m curious if others feel this way. When you go to a concert, are you looking for that intellectual stimulation and the "new," or are you looking for that overwhelming, sensory-rich experience that makes you feel like you’ve stepped into another world entirely? Is the "golden age" of orchestral richness something we should be trying to reclaim, or is the move toward more restrained, cerebral music just the natural evolution of the art form?